night harbour
the shrill
of crickets
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Greater Plan of Day
the cock crows
because the sun
has his heart all
fired up with the
golden promises
of the new day
the crickets shrill
and shrill because
they wish to polish
the shine of the moon
their prayers
pierce and pierce
the night sky
sharpening,
brightening
the edges and faces
of the moon
morning stars
fade away into the day
to give way to the new
and greater lights
in everybody's heart
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Untitled (poem in the style of Emily Dickinson)
It's always black
When the sun drops down
Until the stars attack
The unaware sky
The moon creeps out
Leaving the blocking cloud
With the night now lit up
The crickets jump in a crowd
No violas, No violins
Only one instrument
The cricket’s crick
Music better than an orchestra
Everything good must end
And the frog knows this well
Some crickets flee, others defend
The crickets left to die in the end
poem by Claude Davis III
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Cricket's Love Song
cricket's shrill
courting love
each shrill digs
at my lonely heart
each shrill
an extra inch
of lonelines
cricket's shrill
a field of love songs
not even one for me
each shrill chills
this lonely heart
cricket's shrill
courting love
i wonder whether
she would come
for this late night tryst
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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With the Crickets Gone
Crickets make
The night sounds sweeter.
It's hard to replace
Their usefulness.
Just like moonbeams,
In eyes and dreams.
Without that magic...
Where would romance find meaning?
Where would romance go,
To await times to unfold?
And how...
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
With the crickets gone,
How could we stay afloat.
Crickets make
The night sounds sweeter.
It's hard to replace
Their usefulness.
Just like moonbeams,
In eyes and dreams.
Without that magic...
Where would romance find meaning?
Where would romance go,
To await times to unfold?
And how...
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
With the crickets gone,
How could we stay afloat.
With the crickets gone,
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
With the crickets gone,
How could we stay afloat.
With the crickets gone,
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
With the crickets gone,
How could we stay afloat.
With the crickets gone,
Would we then become remote.
With the crickets gone,
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
With the crickets gone,
How could we stay afloat.
With the crickets gone,
Could we keep that rock to our boat?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Slave killers
fated to serve
the master
this life
and the next
black america
should cry
gratitude
to the great god
in this case
in the darkest of Borneo
as the crickets shrill
you still see
large carved wooden poles
totem poles
with devil faces
looming over the trees
darkened by
a century of rain,
slavery tears
and as you delve
look into the crevices
carved from hundred year old tree
shrill of the crickets
croak of toads, amphibians
pale in comparison
to cry amplified in your ear
a lord's death
always accompanied
by a slave
emaciated, drenched away
in the sweltering
tropical heat
in a chamber just below
taking the greatest
blow from master
that but now was
still as a log
but yet powerful as lord
slowly, and slowly
he succumbed
to a death
befitting of slaves
the worms
from the upper chamber
swarmed all over
to claim him
carry him away
to serve
the lord
slowly
he slipped away
giving up on life
and death
taking whatever would come
this life
next life
succumbing
to what he thought
is god's will
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Crickets
under the leaves
the crickets are singing
non-stopping
tonight the crickets
will continue singing
lulling me to sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bonny Port of Sydney
The lovely Port of Sydney
Lies laughing to the sky,
The bonny Port of Sydney,
Where the ships of nations lie.
You shall never see such beauty,
Though you sail the wide world o’er,
As the sunny Port of Sydney,
As we see it from the Shore.
The shades of night are falling
On many ports of call,
But the harbour lights of Sydney
Are the grandest of them all;
Such a city set in jewels
Has ne’er been seen before
As the harbour lights of Sydney
As we see them from the Shore.
I must sail for gloomy London,
Where there are no harbour lights,
Where no sun is seen in winter,
And there are no starry nights;
And the bonny port of Sydney—
I may never see it more,
But I’ll always dream about it
As we view it from North Shore.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Fears For Fears
Death promises nothing for me
And I don't expect nothing from death
Either than pain and sorrows
Fears for fears
Live in me
When I walk late at night on the road
Because I never know what can happen to me
But I believe that God is always on my side
Fears for fears
I will never trust the promises of a lazy man
Fears for fears
I will drink the one
With my food
So that I can give gheers to my God
Fears for fears
I don't fear the thunder or lightning
Fears for fears
The pond is home to all ducks
Because all the ducks lives in the pond
Swimming away
Fears for fears
What more can I give to God
Than myself
Fears for fears
The paths are not clear of the snow
In the winter
In the city where I live
Fears for fears
The harbour is so quiet during the winter
Because no boats are in the harbour during the winter
And everything sleeps away in the harbour
Also the night comes early during the winter months
But summer is different
Because the light shines all day
Fears for fears
Our bodies are made of water
And we need water to survive in this heat
poem by Aldo Kraas
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night field
the crickets
takes over
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Waiting For Peace
Slow night.. Singing crickets and beetles night accompanied
I was standing at a window glass
Staring intently and muttering dark of night
'I want to break it into chunks of longing small pieces are always sparkling crystals decorate a beautiful room in my heart'
But the black night
Anxiety dissipates
Of my dreams
About my hopes
All that I think about you
When the blackened night
Feel tired
Sleepiness was hung on the eyelid..
I'm in his arms and muttering night
'Love, do not pass from me.. Do not go from my side.. '
Love,
Let me end the night with all the peace
In a Southern Garden
WHEN the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze,
And bats begin their jerky skimming flight,
And the creamy scented blossoms of the dark pittosporum trees,
Grow sweeter with the coming of the night.
And the harbour in the distance lies beneath a purple pall,
And nearer, at the garden’s lowest fringe,
Loud the water soughs and gurgles ’mid the rocks below the wall,
Dark-heaving, with a dim uncanny tinge
Of a green as pale as beryls, like the strange faint-coloured flame
That burns around the Women of the Sea:
And the strip of sky to westward which the camphorlaurels frame,
Has turned to ash-of-rose and ivory—
And a chorus rises valiantly from where the crickets hide,
Close-shaded by the balsams drooping down—
It is evening in a garden by the kindly water-side,
A garden near the lights of Sydney town!
poem by Dorothea Mackeller
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Dark Harbour
The lights are shining down upon broken stones and fishing boats
In the amber haze reflections reach for the night that’s crowding close
And on the hill the old hotel is watching over all
And I think I hear a voice I know
From somewhere down among the waves that kiss the harbour wall
The revellers all come and go at the Crown and Harbour House
There’s a solitary violin in the distance drifting down
And from the south a quarter moon is watching over all
And I think I see a face I know
Beneath me in the rippling images that rise and fall
And I’m thinking of so many things
of all the roads that led me on
and all the words I’ve wasted on
dreams that take us nowhere
when all that ever mattered
was waiting for me here
The outside world in silence waits beyond the edge of night
for the pilgrims on the glory road that most of us walk blind
And in the air the promises that kept us driving on
And I think I hear a song I know
In the old dance hall I held you close; by morning I was gone
Now it’s Hogmanay and bitter cold, but nobody seems to care
In the amber night below the lights there is music everywhere
And from the harbour deep and dark it’s time to turn for home
And I think I hear the bells ring out
From somewhere o’er the Auld Lang Synes that echo round the shore
I’ve been thinking of so many things
of all the roads that led me on
and all the words I’ve wasted on
dreams that take us nowhere
when all that ever mattered
was waiting for me here
31 10 11
In shaded oak crowns
A cicada chorus sings.
Crickets chirp at night.
haiku by Paul Hartal
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Stormy Waters
(white)
Stormy waters, I cant find the harbour
Stormy water keeps me away
Stormy waters, I cant try any harder
And all I ask is to know
Im near the bay
I did it again, I let another year roll away
So I pretend that Ive got a reason to say
Im closer to having you
I never should have strayed
I wish it could
Be easier
For me to end someday
Stormy waters, I cant find the harbour
Stormy water keeps me away
Stormy waters, I cant try any harder
And all I ask is to know
Im near the bay
Whatever I did tell me would I do
The same again
If I could relive would it be the same in the end
cause everyday
Has a funny way
Of ending up so blue
I wish it could
Be easier
To get back with you
Stormy waters, I cant find the harbour
Stormy water keeps me away
Stormy waters, I cant try any harder
And all I ask is to know
Im near the bay
Stormy waters, I cant find the harbour
Stormy water keeps me away
Stormy waters, I cant try any harder
And all I ask is to know
Im near the bay
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming In To Harbour
Well I dreamed I saw you sailing in upon a sleek white schooner
You were slipping over shallow water
You were coming into harbour, you were coming into harbour
With the wind in all your sails
You were carrying a cargo that was richer than riches
More gold than gold and much more real than real
New born babe in your arms and his cool blue eyes gazed up
Yes his cool eyes gazed upon a fresh world, one yet to be made
I was standing on the shoreline looking out over the sea
And I saw your white sail appearing on the horizon
I was standing on the shoreline just looking out over the sea
And I saw your white sail appearing on the horizon
You were coming into harbour, you were coming into harbour
In the bright light, the bright light, longer than the 20th century
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Particular Harbor
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
I know I don't get there often enough
But God knows I surely try
I'ts a magic kind of medicine
That no doctor could prescribe
I used to rule my world from a pay phone
And ships out on the sea
But now times are rough
And I got too much stuff
Can't explain the likes of me
But there's this one particular harbour
So far but yet so near
Where I see the days as they fade away
And finally disappear
But now I think about the good times
Down in the Caribbean sunshine
In my younger days I was so bad
Laughin' about all the fun we had
I've seen enough to feel the world spin
Mixin' different oceans meetin' cousins
Listen to the drummers and the night sounds
Listen to the singers make the world go round
Ia ora te natura...
Lakes below the mountains
Flow into the sea
Like oils applied to canvas
They permeate through me
And there's that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within
Most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hair's full gray
And I finally disappear
Ia ora te natura...
Ua pau te maitai no te fenua
Te zai noa ra te ora o te mitie
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett, music by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Splendor Of The Days
Sweet and shrill the crickets hiding in the grasses brown and lean
Pipe their gladness-sweeter, shriller-one would think the world was green.
O the haze is on the hilltops, and the haze is on the lake!
See it fleeing through the valley with the bold wind in its wake!
Mark the warm October haze!
Mark the splendor of the days!
And the mingling of the crimson with the sombre brown and grays!
See the bare hills turn their furrows to the shine and to the glow;
If you listen you can hear it, hear a murmur soft and low-
'We are naked,' so the fields say, 'stripped of all our golden dress.'
'Heed it not,' October answers, 'for I love ye none the less.
Share my beauty and my cheer
While we rest together here,
In these sun-filled days of languor, in these late days of the year.'
All the splendor of the summer, all the springtime's light and grace,
All the riches of the harvest, crown her head and light her face;
And the wind goes sighing, sighing, as if loath to let her pass,
While the crickets sing exultant in the lean and withered grass.
O the warm October haze!
O the splendor of the days!
O the mingling of the crimson with the sombre brown and grays!
poem by Jean Blewett
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At The End Of The Day
At the end of the day
when the hues of night
are seen by lovers
as they stroll to their favourite rendezvous,
where the moonbeams dance
across the waters of a lazy river
and fireflies court in twos.
The chorus of the crickets
fills the stilled night air
as lovers gather in courting
here, there and everywhere.
The night is filled with whispers
of words not to be overheard
on a staggered summer evening
in a time not far away.
2 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Breeding Season Of The Spur Winged Plovers
The spur winged plovers breed in depths of Winter
And in the night you often hear them cry
Perhaps they scream at fox who is out hunting
As in the darkness he goes prowling by?
To where their eggs are far too close for comfort
Their alarm calls re-echo in the sky
And their shrill voices can be heard for some distance
As above their territory they scream and fly.
They do not waste their energy on nest building
And on the ground their green blotched eggs they lay
And in the breeding season they are wary
You hear them every night and every day.
When their chicks are young the plovers are quite fearless
And from their borders chase others away
They mob the currawongs and kites and kookaburras
And other birds who on their young might prey.
It is the breeding season of the spur winged plovers
And in the night their shrill voices you hear
Perhaps at fox out hunting they are screaming
As to where their eggs are he is prowling near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To The Lady Magdalen Herbert, Of St. Mary Magdalen
HER of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,
An active faith so highly did advance,
That she once knew, more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection ; so much good there is
Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one woman could do this ;
But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame ;
To their devotion add your innocence ;
Take so much of th' example as of the name,
The latter half ; and in some recompense,
That they did harbour Christ Himself, a guest,
Harbour these hymns, to His dear Name address'd.
poem by John Donne
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